Our Family Vacation And Other Katastrophes
by Spawn Guy
Summary: It's not the super villain team up he's got to worry about. It's the competition. And you though GizmoDuck was complicated.
1. Welcome to Megakat City

**Our Family Vacation And Other Katastrophes **

The Terror That Flaps In The Night- Disney. The Radical Squadron- Hanna Barbera.

Got it? Good. I'd have included Dr Fossil in the line up, but the voice actor joke was just too obvious.

---

_Should have taken the Thunderquack. _

Shuffling webbed feet, Drake Mallard tried to ignore the syrup thick feeling to the heat and old frying pan greasiness to the air flooding into the garage. With little success.

_Really should have taken the Thunderquack._

"Hey, did someone already try to fix this?" 

"No." Drake said too quickly.

The kat hunched over the rent-a-car shrugged broad shoulders, somehow managing not to drop the hood down on the lithe form subtlety twitching within the shadows of the engine. He winked at Drake.

"Play nice Chance."

The lankier kat shifted to the right slightly, thrust a victorious fist into the air, clambering out and placing a baseball cap back where it belonged.

"Got it. Rental agency won't suspect a thing."

"Thanks…" Drake began.

A snicker floated across the room. The two kats turned. Drake didn't. Didn't have to. Gosalyn shrugged, smirk still in place. Her father resisted the urge to bite through his tongue.

"Hw…"

He unclenched his teeth.

"How much fellas?"

Broad and Lanky exchanged a glance. Lanky produced a calculator from an oil stained uniform pocket. Broad, or Chance (although "Broad" sounded better in Drake's head), interrupted.

"Thirty twenty." 

Smile. Smile. Just smile. Ignore that feeling that usually means jaw bones are about to shatter like glass…

"That's a little steep isn't it?"

"Not really considering what insurance agencies usually charge. And considering you're out of town and all ready paid up to the rental agency we knocked off about twenty…"

"Whaddaya mean we?" began Lanky. His jaw tightened as a left foot the size of a king sized encyclopaedia came down on his own right.

Trying and failing to keep his frustration under his breath, Drake removed the suggested amount (no extra tip!), gave Gosalyn a glare from outside a freezer, gave an irate nod and clambered into the too hot and too itchy interior of the too small car.

The kats watched them go.

Jake Clawson glared sideways at his taller partner.

"Barges in here during lunch ,hovers over us the whole time, lousy tipper and when we get to charge him the whole forty bucks you half the price."

Chance Furlong removed a claw from an ear, giving the wax an inspection that suggested it was of more significance to the cosmos than his friend.

"Yup."

"Before I go down to the hanger and shove a gloveatrix up your ass, care to explain why?"

"His kid was cute."

Jake held eye to ear contact for a minute before the infection from the taller kat's smirk kicked in.

"Tourists."

"Tell me about it."

---

The air conditioning gave out a sound like a gassy mouse being trodden on and filtered out. Not that Drake had managed to get any benefit from it on full.

"Lousy mechanics…"

"They were nice." Gosalyn snapped without looking up from her PSP.

"I was talking about the rental agency rats who put this microwave oven on wheels together."

"Oh."

Drake's eyes darted sideways for a second.

"Still think ten twenty's a little steep."

"Shouldn'tve tried to fix it yourself."

She either smirked at the pile of defeated pixels on her screen or her fathers expense.

"If we could get back on track for a minute…"

Drake inserted a hand into the glove compartment, shifting webbed feet under an onslaught of cascading paper. Bills, ads for St Canard Rental agency, Megakat city tour guide pamphlet (in Chinese), a phone book which earned a teeth grinding wince and finally a utility folder stuffed with papers and more wrinkled than the greatest of great grandfathers. Drake tried to hide that. Gosalyn's eyes remained half closed and focused on her screen.

More scrabbling located a crushed map that Drake tried to read without taking his eyes off the road. It wasn't easy. Megakat on paper was a maze of roads and names, packed with cars and crowds in steel and concrete.

"How does anyone find anything in this town?"

"You mean how can half the Fearsome Five find a new hideout after skipping St Canard to come here?"

Drake nearly drove into a subway entrance.

"Wha…agh…uh…wh-who said anything about them? Can't a guy take his favourite daughter out on vacation?"

Gosalyn shut off her game to preserve the battery, stashing it in a door pocket.

"Dad, I'm your only daughter."

"All the more reason for me to take you somewhere nice!"

Drake felt his stomach turn from some thing other than the nauseating colour of the sky since he got off the plane.

"Uh huh." Gosalyn was giving him _that _look. She'd picked it up from countless Darkwing cases he hadn't wanted her involved in or when she failed to mention a parent/teacher conference was being set up _again_.

"You hate it here."

"I do not! "

Father and daughter's eyes went wide as a metallic white and grey vehicle barrelled across the freeway in front of them.

"Hey, watch it buddy!"

"Dad, that's an enforcer."

Drake shifted gear, and heart rate, back down, glaring out at the monstrosity under the sickening yellow green blue haze of smog covered sky through the wind shield.

"Yeah, J. Gander warned my about them."

He gripped the steering wheel tightly at Gosalyn's arrow sharp glare.

"Not that this has anything to do with S.H.U.S.H or The Fearsome Five or Darkwing or anything! Just a father and daughter out for some _niiiiice_ family fun…"

_Yeah_, he thought wearily as a short and large pair of kats in a dump truck rudely overtook them, claming victory in a mixture of loud, obnoxious cursing and St Canard street punk worthy gesturing, _this place is just real fun for the whole family._

---

"We're here, we're here!"

Quakerjack shoved a buck toothed head between an irate Megavolt and a haggard Bushroot, gazing up at the distant super sized sky scrapers above them.

"We're here, home of the world's second most, myself at the top of course, talented comedian David Litterbox! Oh happy, happy, joy, joy!"

"Feeling tired?" The Liquidator slurred "Stuck in a rut? Head on down to Megakat city, for sand, sun and fun!"

"You made the same joke before we got here." Megavolt eyes were narrowed as he lifted protective goggles to rub the bridge of an irate nose. "Wasn't funny then."

"Just when you thought it was safe to lighten the mood…a critic."

"Oh that's a good one Licky! I'm writing that one down."

Bushroot rubbed nervious hands together as if trying to ignite a fire through sheer nerves.

"C-could you guys keep it down?"

The large dock worker kats on their far right smirked and chuckled in troglodyte, turning back to whatever shadowy work they were pretending to do. Quakerjack stuck his tongue out at mountain sized backs, patting quivering vegetable shoulders.

"There, there, Bush old pal, it may not look like much now…"

Megavolt sniffed.

"Dosen't smell like much either."

Actually that wasn't true. It smelt like what happened when you kept massive industrial plants next to crowds of furry people under a constant sun.

Quakerjack scowled.

"Its not nice to interrupt someone when they're talking." sang Mr Banana Brain.

"Thank _you_, Mr Banana Brain."

"You're welcome."

Even the Liquidator wore that expression of haggard wariness that most of the Five wore practically every second Tuesday, the kind that came from working with a bigger nut job than you were. Not some one more dangerous than you were, Negaduck had a league of his own to come up for analogies for how deadly he was, and would probably kill everyone in that league if they didn't score him public enemy number one status. Not that it ever took much for NegaDuck to make terrorist attack worthy headlines. Mostly at the expense of his lackeys…kind of why four of them were here now.

"As I was _saying_," Quakerjack continued, having stashed the puppet…wherever he kept it when it wasn't on his hand ", it may look like a sewer pipe burst and gave birth to a dirty fur ball factory but Megakat City is the Terrifying Tetrad's ticket to the top!"

Silence reigned, except for Megakat City bustle far off under the dock noises. Megavolt risked being the first one to talk.

"Terrifying what?"

"Tetrad!" Quakerjack's expression could have been on that one birthday card that always looked more overly psychotic than anything trying to force that much pep should have been able to pull off, but was the only one available for little Timmy's birthday party.

"You know, because there's four of us?"

Bushroot scratched a petaled head "What's a tetrad?"

"Oh, no way did you go to Harvard!"

"That's right folk's, it's that time of year again, do not turn that dial, cause its time to play…make up that word!"

"I didn't make it up! I read it in a dictionary! Bet you can't even _spell _dictionary you worthless water logged wastrel!"

"I never went to Harvard! When did I say I went to Harvard?"

"Shut. Up." Megavolt said in the kind of voice that did _not _count to ten before exploding.

Reluctant silence settled in and the rat let out a shoulder sagging sigh from deep within his chest, shuffling down a shadow ridden alley. He'd ended up de facto leader for some reason, probably because the Liquidator couldn't make an order unless it was for a lifetime's supply of Ninja Turtle action figures, Bushroot got nervious yelling at people, and Quakerjack…well…because putting him in charge would be like lighting a very big cigar in a very gaseous mineshaft. And twice as loud. Megavolt's only vice that he considered a vice was _occasionally _eating more chocolate than he really should, and in all fairness it was easy to work off the pounds avoiding a lunatic with a bad taste in hats, which he didn't deserve in his never ending crusade to deliver justice to all appliances everywhere. The maximum security wing of the St Canard asylum for the criminally inclined would disagree but what did they know?

Regardless of opinion Megavolt dangled somewhere between being weird enough to exist in a heightened state of sanity on the other end of insanity and being the only one with any real plan 20 of the time, so it was easier for three of the most wanted criminals on the East coast to just tag along and see where he'd end up, although the distinct lack of chainsaws and shot guns allowed them to take some liberties. Like arguing as if back in pre school, something NegaDuck only tolerated with results. Better to be shocked slightly than decorating an alley somewhere.

Darkwing Duck was the type to try and get in some retribution in the name of justice ASA double P, NegaDuck more so either because loosing hired help with out his say so pissed him off, or you didn't bring him the right amount of sugar in his coffee and he probably wondered how many bullets it would take to kill you anyway. So the Tetrad (Megavolt stamped on that train of thought) _group _would probably be better off finding their new employer post haste. Especially since the sun was starting to go down, turning the smog scarlet and orange dotted with deep blue and purple sky. Some would consider this romantic. Megavolt considered the number of street lamps that would be turned up to full and shuddered in disgust. Any witless fur ball wandering the streets tonight better watch out they didn't meet _them_.

The sudden thud would have almost ripped his suit in half beneath the heavy trench coat he was wearing, if his feet hadn't suddenly seemed to be made of concrete and held his skin firmly in place.

"What was that!? Whose dead!?"

Quakerjack's coat rattled and rustled with hidden metal and candy wrappers as he bent down, scooping up more of the same and trying to cram it back into a rip in his suitcase.

"Sorrysorrysorry…"

The Liquidator bubbled a relived sigh. Bushroot was as still as a tense cactus, eyes darting around like maddened flies. Megavolt felt some feeling leach out of his pounding heart and back into his spine. It jolted suddenly at a clink they knew didn't come from Quakerjack. The dockworkers emerged from various shadows into the dying light, grins and metal weapons glowing with sheer sadistic malice. The leader casually hefted a metal pipe that should have cracked his spine in two over one shoulder.

"I'm gonna go ahead and guess ya know the drill. Anything and everything now, and maybe nobody gets hurt."

Megavolt sneered, hand already glowing with tell tale sparks.

"Oh really?"

"Uh guys…?"

Bushroot voice was a dry choke. As one, everyone turned. And stopped dead.

The mass of shadows shifted towering bulk to better find a position atop the polished black deaths head cane it was leaning on. Hellfire lit eyes loomed back and forth as if the moon itself was judging the situation.

"You will leave. You will speak of this to no one."

Not a threat. Just an order, a universal law. This was what was going to happen, and the speaker did not have to explain what would follow disobedience, because imagination was so much better at filling in the details. In high definition and surround sound, but twice as terrible as mere blurs of thought on too dark and too silent nights. NegaDuck could only dream of a voice like that.

The muggers vanished. The terrified foursome might as well have been made of the concrete they stood on.

"Gentlemen."

A hand the size of a small lead weight sent the door behind it gliding open as gently as a summer breeze.

"Do come in."

The hand gestured into an interior as black as the inside of a mountain.

"Never let it be said Dark Kat keeps his guest waiting.

---

The hotel room door rattled. Launchpad McQuack shifted his impressive weight from foot to foot, finding that didn't help with the cases under both arms. Or the one he had clamed to his side by grasping the handle with his left hand. Or his nerves. St Canard had become home and leaving the Thunderquack stashed in a dockside warehouse just didn't sit right with a born and bred pilot.

Kicking a door to get people's attention neither. Just not polite.

A creak, a tilt of his neck, and he was looking down at that familiar bill under that red cottage thatch hair. Only for a second though. His legs, already overtaxed from keeping himself upright under the weight of the cases, almost folded like flesh and bone origami paper under the tight embrace. Nothing like a Mallard style hug to take your mind off homesickness. Mainly because it would actually put you in the hospital for completely fractured legs, but it was the little things that made a crime fighting trio family.

"Launchpad!"

"Hey Gos! You mind? Kinda need those back." There was a sound that may have been his spine bending in on itself as his arms began to slowly slip out of their sockets. "Like, now…"

He was released and promptly bustled inside. Gosalyn never bustled anyone into anything ever. Poor kid must really be glad to have a familiar face that wasn't masked. Speaking of which…

"Uh, is your dad around or…"

There was a rustle from the second bedroom's open door.

"In here LP!"

Drake's voice came in strained monotone, as if his teeth had been glued together. A rustling sound sizzling on the edge of consciousness made it's way into to the pilot's ears, along with the occasional mutter of "C'mon, c'mon…".

Turning sideways like a weight lifting hermit crab, Launchpad shambled inside, vibrating slightly as he tried to hold all three cases together by sheer gravitational pull. He almost tripped over a shoe. Clothes littered the floor like battlefield corpses. Drake was hunched over an open suit case, shoulders shifting like a mountain range in an earthquake.

"That my…" His voice dropped to a low whisper "…equipment?"

"Huh?" Launchpad blinked, then grinned in relief. "Oh your gadgets! Ye…"

Drake spun, beak tight in a hissing hushing sound. He managed to form the words _Not. A. _and _Word. _without separating his clenched teeth. A feathered finger jabbed desperately to the open door.

Launchpad tried to balance the third case in his already full arms and nod at the same time, almost concussing himself with he handle of the case in his right hand. He almost fractured his beak off the top of the third case as it was half hoisted, half thrown on top of his outstretched arms, feeling like they were going to bend halfway through and become a pair of forklift prongs. Drake grabbed the case, almost collapsing into himself like a feathery black hole from the weight, ramming the thing down onto the floor and going back to work on the half gutted case on the dresser. He made a sound of triumph in the back of his throat, then remembered Launchpad.

"You mind? I need to change."

"Oh, sorry."

"I called you in to help baby-sit Gosalyn while I…take in the Megakat night life. So go sit."

Launchpad heaved the remaining cases out of the room, looking through into the small living room. The duckling sat in one of the armchairs in the pale green Megakat plaza hotel room (that Drake was probably going to bitch about costing him an arm, leg and kidney), gazing half asleep at the standard hotel TV. Form the sound of it, something incredibly violent was going on. That was just so cute. He tried to look back at Drake by rotating his eyes out the back of his head, possibly catching a stray flash of purple out of the

very rim of the corner of his eye.

"Don't look like she needs too much sitting for me."

"Out!"

He gave Gosalyn an imploring look. Her eyes never left the TV screen, but kid radar was a powerful thing.

"Aren't you going to ask Launchpad if he had a nice flight?"

A vague mumble.

"Oh, it went okay. You were right, that S.H.U.S.H thingamajig you took…"

A loud and demanding cough.

"…uh…borrowed…worked like a charm. Not a peep outta the enforcer band. I managed to get her down to that abandoned garage down by the docks. There's plenty of abandoned buildings down there, just like you figured. Nobody'll find it down there and there's plenty of room for take off. Stashed the Ratcatcher there to."

His eyes widened, swivelling to Gosalyn as if magnetized. The Mighty Ducks game seemed to make up her entire world. She _might_ not have heard that, but she was _good_ at hearing what you didn't want her to…he decided not to go looking for the headache.

"So how's Megakat treating you so far?"

Gosalyn counted to three. She needn't have bothered at two.

"The train was late, the rental agency gave us a car that crapped out halfway down the road so we had to get robbed blind by a couple of grease monkeys! The map got us lost, traffic was awful, seriously no one knows how to drive in this town! The food could make your heart explode with a spoon full, the air pollution shaved a couple of decades off my lifespan, and it's too damn hot!"

Silence, except for the sounds of the TV and Launchpad being stunned.

"Uh, if you didn't like it I could've flown you guys in on the Thunderquack."

"Told ya we should have taken the Thunderquack." Gosalyn called, eyes fixed on the TV.

This was ignored. Followed by a clunking sound.

"Hey, is my spectral analyser in here? I'm going to need it if I'm going to be searching the train yards."

"Uh, your what?" 

More clunking.

"You know. The infrared, ultraviolet scanner with near microscopic level telescoping scanner abilities."

There was silence as Drake sought a more suitable vocabulary. And gave up.

"Looks like a hairbrush made out of Steelbeak's stubble."

"Oh _that_! Yeah, uh, bottom right. Under the smoke canister racks."

A thumping, a click, a wince and hissing sound that may have been cursing.

"Got it?"

Scraping.

"Got it!"

Back to rustling.

Launchpad's brow knitted together beneath flight goggles.

"Train yards?"

"I'm going to go clue hunting."

"But wouldn't it be better just to see if, I dunno, someone booked a plain trip under the Fearsome Four or something?"

"They didn't fly in. We didn't because I needed to book a place to stay, and the Thunderquack's jamer systems have better chance of working if there's only one organic life form on board. Makes it all the easier to block from enforcer scanners. Getting you to ghost in was the best way to sneak my extra work tools in and still have somewhere for us to get a warm bed and regular meals in this flea pit."

"I thought this wasn't a working vacation." Gosalyn sang innocently.

More irate rustling.

"Oh like you hadn't figured it out already."

"True."

Launchpad resisted the urge to scratch the back of his head, avoiding a broken foot.

"You sure they didn't come in by air? Even if they didn't, how's running round a train yard gonna turn anything up?"

"Positive. Airport security is insane, trains the one place you could sneak anything out of town for sure. Assuming they didn't take a box car all the way, which is probably why S.H.U.S.H didn't figure out they were gone until about a week ago. Again, trains are the last place anybody would check for weapons."

Launchpad finally set the cases down. His muscles thanked him by not giving out until he managed to steer his plummet into a near by armchair.

"How do you figure that?"

A click.

"Because that's why I used it."

"So…now that you're here, what are you gonna do?"

The purple of Darkwing's cloak clashed with the pale green and all too common settings of the hotel room, city light form below shifting off it as he began undoing a window leading to the next roof.

"It's too bright and as hot as hell. What do you think I'm going to do?"

A rustle of fabric, a whirr of grappling line, the sound of metal meeting concrete, a rush of air, and Darkwing Duck was gone.

---

"Unacceptable!"

Enforcer officers scattered like startled birds as Commander Ulysses Feral unfolded his full build out into the bull pen outside his office. Black regulation boots stamped off polished regulation floors, as regulation coat tales billowed in non regulation wind.

"Penny and a dispenser candy bar for your thoughts?

Lieutenant Felina Feral gave her uncle a wave from the wall she was leaning against.

A pair of plastic goggles bolted to a set of ear muffs told him she'd just come back from her usual two hour target practice down in the blaster range. He'd smile if he didn't feel like he could blow the range apart himself.

"Not now."

"Well when? You know what the docs said about your blood pressure."

A derisive snort.

"Your taking advice from a bunch of quacks?"

She shrugged, falling into step with the larger kat with more casual militant discipline.

"Not entirely. But even you have to admit fighting evil sorcerers from the back end of the dark ages has it's toll."

Another snort that was on the edge of becoming a snarl.

"So no on the talking thing?"

Tree trunk arms grabbed her, hauling her into an empty stairwell. Feral gazed around the area as if trying to burn any spies out of the walls, setting off in a brisk march downward when none did. Felina followed in expectant, deliberate silence until they reached the side entrance just above underground parking.

They entered the sweat damp summer air, enforcer HQ silver against the night darkness. The sounds of Megakat City, enforcer sirens, foghorns and car engines drifted into the side alley they'd entered, mixing with incoming enforcer choppers. Felina waited, tail waving in the orange lit alley light as her favourite uncle and commanding officer spent a few minutes back on the constant vigil he kept his city under, car windscreen wide back to her.

The situation required patience. A distinct lack of it would be just as good.

"So what's going on?"

A deep breath. The commander looked a lot less taller when he turned around.

"S.H.U.S.H graced us with their presence tonight."

Felina scowled as if just told that, yes, air line food was supposed to taste like that.

"What'd the big wigs want?"

Feral smiled mirthlessly, yet eyes dimly alight.

"Big wigs. What we called them when I was a rookie. Still using it down in the locker room?"

"A lot."

Felina's eyes were alight to.

"Glad to see you picked it up. I can't stand them any more than the vigilantes." 

"I know." Her smile was one of embarrassment. "I heard you talking with Dad about them one time when I was six and got thirsty."

Large eyebrows raised in shock and mild delight.

"As I recall you were meant to be asleep."

"Never was one for rules." 

"I also recall using…rather choice language back then."

Her smile turned mischievous.

"Don't worry. Picked _that_ up a lot later on college, and first day on the beat."

They stood there, heads lowered in memory. She raised hers first.

"So that's what your all torn up about? Couple of big wigs got hair all over your desk?"

He hardened instantly, unmovable as steel fused with mountain rock.

"They weren't so courteous. They fumbled the ball in St Canard and let four of their most wanted meta criminals slip off the radar. They've put out warnings to every other law enforcement agency on the west coast because, according to rumors they cannot confirm, they _may_ be coming here."

Felina was silent for a few minutes. The far off enforcer sirens sounded a lot closer, a lot more urgent.

"Here? Specifically _here_? Megakat here?"

"Maybe. Their phone call wasn't polite enough to tell me what their going to do about it if they find them, but for now their leaving it to us to drop everything and turn every piece of alleyway trash over to see if there's anything in a bright costume crawling around under there."

_Phone call? Ouch. _

She didn't let any sympathy show though. Ulysses Feral operated in one of the highest recorded meta criminal metropolitan areas on the west coast. They were _bound_ to be coming here, and regardless of the cost he didn't need anything undermining his resolve that the enforcers _could _handle it. Neither did she. Nevertheless…

"Do we know which metas?"

"Details are 'on the way'."

Feral's voice could have been sucked to cure sore throats.

"I here they do things pretty weird in St Canard."

Feral grunted, facing visibly wrinkling in disgust beneath heavy fur more than the lieutenant would have though possible. That was a SWAT Kat look. Plus one.

"Naturally they have a vigilante of their own up there. Not as messy as the SWAT Kats but just as reckless and twice as…theatrical."

"Darkwing Duck?"

The suddenness of her uncles stare almost made her back away. Almost.

"Something to that effect. Known for smoke screens and capes. S.H.U.S.H didn't actually say he would be coming in so many words, but since he's cut from the same spandex as these buffoons he's bound to blow into town if they show up here. And frankly I just don't need the headache of another clown in a mask and more metas blowing up my choppers. So he'd better keep his head down."

Felina kept quite again, her uncle staring out at the distant city again. A mass of alleyways and buildings and industrial complexes and warehouses and tunnels and lies and shadows. The perfect hiding place if you were smart. And while these guys were probably going to have gigs wackier than David Litterbin quips, they were also probably going to be smart enough to be hard to find. Just because.

"So you think we can take them on our own?"

Feral was silent for a long time.

"We may need S.H.U.S.H's help in updating our files to counter these jokers, but other than that…I don't know."

A familiar roar made them both look up. Felina smiled. Feral didn't.

"May have more help than you think."

The Turbokat glistened sleek and black against the moon for a heartbeat, fading afterburners

the only sign it had ever been there.

---

"I'd like to go on record saying that buzzing enforcer headquarters in a bad idea."

"You said that before I plotted the course."

"And I stand by it."

Razor's face was a narrow mask of furry annoyance, more at the lack of activity on the enforcer band radio than his pilot's antics. T-Bone banked the Turbokat to the left, Megakat sweeping away beneath them by miles, brining them back into line with tonight's patrol route ( No better way to keep a heavily armed military style police force from predicting where you were going to show up, other than a crime scene, than by not flying the same air space twice).

He anticipated the question as easily as his partner predicted the answer.

"Nothing?" 

"Nothing."

He frowned at the played back data.

"Nothing good, nothing important, take your pick."

The cockpit muted the roar of the engines and city noises outside, amplifying choice parts of T-Bone's muttering. Two weeks had gone by with no real criminal activity, and tonight made three. Placing enforcer headquarters under a quick audio/visual scan through the Turbokat's satellite scanners, to see if anything might be going on that wasn't reaching the air waves, joined the pile of dead ends. Not that Razor knew why they were making a reinforced structure for the big deal they were making out of this. Crime typically built up and exploded like a volcano eruption during summer, and Megakat was near tropical most of the year. Adding in the amount of meta criminal activity that had become standard most of the year too, the SWAT Kat found it hard to figure out why city law enforcement, air borne vigilantes included, were on the verge of jumping at shadows. The gear they had could put a lot of holes in those shadows and a good enforcer, even a "forcibly retired" one, hated wasting ammo.

His instincts told him it was because criminals not enacting diabolical schemes were diabolically scheming. He told his instincts to shut up.

"Decided to tell me yet?"

Masked eyes looked up from the dim glow of the dimensional radar.

"Huh?"

"What's not good _or_ important. Care to share?"

"The big birds at S.H.U.S.H called in Feral for help tracking down some St Canard weirdoes."

"The guy in the hat and cape or the guy who turned himself into a dinosaur?"

Razor smirked.

"Didn't say."

T-Bone smirked back.

"Don't think that's important?"

"Why would it be?"

T-Bone had the jet at rooftop level, allowing a better street view without getting too close. Not that the dimensional radar couldn't do that, but straining eyes instead of electronics felt better than nothing.

"Just saying…if Feral's still here after the highest of high up government agencies shoves marching orders in his face, it's because he either told them where they could stick 'em or the problem's at home rather than way out east."

Razor watched cars go by below like fireflies in a concrete river, glanced at the silent instrument panel, then took a contemplative breath. It wasn't uncommon for Dark Kat to go under ground before making a move. Ditto Viper, especially considering his housing situation or lack thereof. The Metallikats would be spending this summer and hopefully the next bazillion years on a shelf in an enforcer evidence locker. Turmoil had been transferred to a government security facility somewhere on the other side of the _other _side of the globe, assuming the FBI put taxpayers dollars to worthwhile use. And they nabbed Hard Drive last month, so prisoner number 19931995 made four villains accounted for, two off the radar doing…whatever.

Whatever worried Razor. A lot. Unknown metas to.

"You thinking it might be like that one time Dark Kat called in Viper and the Metallikats to play monopoly with our teeth?" 

T-Bone's hands were around the stick a little stronger than they had to be. They tightened.

"Dark crud's hired scum to mix with the crap under his feet before. Calling in some out-of-towners to get their claws dirty sounds like his kinda game."

Razor looked at the stars, almost invisible in Megakat's constant light show. That added new players to a game they could only speculate at playing, actually _were _playing. Or being played. The thought felt like trying to open a locked safe. While it was squatting on your head.

"Thanks a lot Chance."

"Still…"

T-bone placed a hand innocently on the throttle.

"The only big wigs we need…" He began. Razor's smile was as big and sharp as his namesake.

"Are the one's for grandpa's bald spot!" they chorused.

Whooping, T-Bone shoved the throttle to full, advanced VTOL engines burning hard and fast, not speed of heat shield fast, but good enough. They sped out over the bay, swinging round in a wide arc, descending slowly to trail one wing in a silver slash of water and metal in moonlight before barrel rolling out and up, reaching cloud cover just as they came back over the canyons of the city. T-Bone couldn't smile enough. Reciting the old enforcer locker room mantra had been like yanking the top off a bottle of good beer, the best substitute when lacking something to shoot at. Razor thumped the back of his seat.

"Show-off."

But he was smiling to. T-Bone was satisfied as he levelled off.

"Got anything else up your sleeve Sure Shot?"

Razor checked his instruments again before shrugging wiry shoulders.

"Head back to the hangar and blow off some steam on target practice before turning in?"

"Rodger that."

"Oh yeah, that's not stereotypical. Can I get a ten four good buddy?"

"Just for that I'm gonna hide your rivet gun when we get back."

Razor's laugh was lost in the engine roar.

---

Bushroot missed Spike. He really did. It wasn't just because the plant was cute, because-well-he wasn't. It had to be these pinkish red creepy things. It had to be. One of them offered a refill of wine despite the untouched glass in front of him, claws tight around the bottle neck, pterodactyl beak gibbering like a howler monkey with it's foot in a trap and a voice full of helium. He barely made out the question mark in the creatures speech.

"Uh…no thanks. I d-don't…uh…I don't drink…"

True, but there was the issue of poison to consider. Not that a potential employer would go to the trouble of subtly contacting the candidates and ferrying them all the way to his base of operations simply to poison them. But work with NegaDuck long enough and when shadows said 'Jump' you asked 'How high?' from atop the chandelier.

The creature made a noncommittal grunt like tiny bones fracturing, leaping off the table and scrabbling across the basement floor, taloned feet clicking and scratching. The rest of the diners watched it vanish into the shadows at a high speed waddle, all except Quakerjack, who couldn't get enough of the food in front of him. Italian cuisine oddly enough. After settling in to their new accommodations, sterile yet strangely lavish, they'd spent the evening being brought up to date with the Megakat crime scene. Bushroot had to admit…he didn't like Megakat much. Oh the weather was great, but it was big and dirty and noisy. And the plants complained about the air pollution. Megakat citizens could probably live on Venus with lungs that could withstand that much smog. The city reflected the criminals, or maybe the other way around. Snakes and robots. St Canard, now that he was far from it's misty streets, had a certain mystery. It was a big city that could make you a prince in a minute and a pauper the next day. The arts mingled with the mom's apple pie simplicity of everyday life, rooftops were stages for great tragedy and comedy alike, guys had dolls and the fantastic

got into bed with the impossible and had a bunch of baby fantasies with it. This place had mutants and guns and war zones. No…no _art_. Any idiot could pull a gun, and self esteem issues aside, Dr Reginald Bushroot was no idiot. Maybe that was why he was here now. Metallic and uninspired as their surroundings were, some kind of bomb shelter joined to a series of underground passages, there was an air of class and criminal respectability. The food, the meagre trappings of their quarters, even the shadows had that slight resonance of something bigger and better. But danger to. Always danger. Not like being in the same room as NegaDuck, that was danger pure and unabashedly simple. Everything here, mainly Dark Kat, seemed to generate the mere implication of danger, what he might do rather than what he was doing. And that was truly terrible. NegaDuck was a time bomb morning, noon and night, the only predictable thing about him being the constant white hot rage. But Dark Kat was a rock. You'd never see the move coming because you could convince yourself that maybe, just maybe, there would be none. And if you knew that you were constantly in the sheer primal terror of inevitability. Like that one scene in _The Unquackables_. The big guy gets up from the table, all power and respectability, carrying a blunt object that should be setting off the danger senses of the drunk morons he's had under the thumb of the men under his thumb for the entire history of his empire. He lets them in on the big secret and the little joke and how that'll let you rule the world, because the world is inside people's minds. But it can only belong to him. And with that he sends his right hand man's brains all over the table and leaving them to rot in his spaghetti.

And you know that's true because you know what's coming will keep on happening forever and ever and ever.

The cane Dark Kat carried with him at all times was quite a big and heavy looking one. Alack for lesser knowledge.

"Is something wrong with your wine Mr Flood?"

The Liquidator, usually a shifting mass of dancing liquids even sitting still, went ice rigid at the voice.

"The Liquidator does not use more than the recommended amount."

The quip came more hoarsely than it ever could out of fully oxygenated lungs.

"I see. I suppose I should have foreseen that. After all, what need does a river have for good food and drink?"

The Liquidator could only nod.

"Still, perhaps that river may occasionally miss having the ability to appreciate the…finer things in life."

That got there attention. He rose from the table, gentle and slow yet powerful strides carrying him around the table. He took the cane with him. Bushroot's heart pounded off whatever he had left for ribs now.

"There have been many times when you could have gained the finer things in life, and the afterlife if you had not been held back by both sides of the law."

The looked at each other. Held back. Yeah. Yeah! Held back! Led astray! The universe could be divided into right (them) and wrong (everyone else, especially mask wearing ducks). Dark Kat's watchful eye rolled back to stare ahead. He began placing his own considerable girth into the correct universal position.

"You have the abilities, should your minds be set to them. Yet you lack…coordination. Understanding. Finesse."

They looked away from him for the first time. Finesse? Had they ever really had that? Didn't sound like someone who led entire operations by the teeth of a chainsaw.

"Together you held an entire city hostage for a day, and under the powerless dolt who intimidated you into no more than pawns, you lost it all to opponents you had already beaten. You gentlemen, not your leader, if he may be considered one. For what kind of leader prevents his followers from achieving their potential, if their gifts, yes gentlemen, _gifts_, can only benefit the group as a whole? What kind of leader does not lead?"

The four looked from each other to him, not hanging anymore, but anchored to his every word.

"You lived ,gentlemen, in a criminal's dream. Not your own. I? I offer you…a criminal's paradise. A vast empire dedicated to justice."

He paused, back to them and us unreadable as solid air. Their confused stares danced from him to each other and back again. Justice?

"Yes, justice gentlemen. Justice for criminals. Justice to the deserving, the gifted. Not to mindless sheep, drones who feed corruption far more than we, the desperate and the depraved, ever could. We few, destined to sit atop the many's shoulders, only to be dragged down and branded because we dare tell the truth. Yes, we the liars and the cheaters are the truly innocent gentlemen. We, _we_, are the ones capable of admitting that all are, at the core, weak, arrogant, ignorant, greedy, and that makes us strong. I plan to create a world, starting with this city and spreading beyond even your own St Canard, where true justice, the kind of justice that indulges every vice and eliminates any virtue, is abundant for each and every one of you and those like us. And with the four of you, organised by my vision, are on the threshold of realising it all."

Silence. The thick, heavy silence of true realization.

"So gentlemen…do we have an agreement?"

One last, long stare between the group. Liquidator and Bushroot wore faces of elemental confusion. Megavolt's face froze in the act of saying something, mouth open but vocal cords dry as desert sand and hard as concrete. Stray spaghetti strands dangled from Quakerjack's sauce strained beak…before he sucked them in, the last one wriggling down his throat like a agonised worm. He smiled a wide, sauce covered toothed leer.

"It's plaaaaaaaay tiiiiiiime!"

That was enough, the single cry that began the avalanche.

"Let the sparks fly!"

"Lets go kick some grass!"

"The Fearsome Five, satisfaction _guaranteed_!"

Dark Kat smiled, the smile that knew every secret and every nightmare and saw that it was bad.

"Excellent. Welcome gentlemen. Welcome to…the alliance."

---

Shadows wrapped and rolled off a purple cloak. Sighing in frustration, Darkwing Duck rose from his crouch by the hundredth rail track he'd been examining. He shrugged back his cloak, heavy and sweaty from the city heat, using his free hand to mop his sweaty, fedoraless brow. Three hours since his journey over the roof tops and his ride over on the Ratcatcher, and still nothing. Maybe his karma was out of wack thanks to the heat.

_I like a night of warm hearted justice as much as the next magnificent master of mercy, but this is ridiculous. _

He crunched his way over train yard gravel, not even bothering with stealth anymore. No one around at this time of night, not even a guard dog. Although the city was like an island of fully lit Christmas trees. Nice looking, but irritating in the heat and he'd been forced to stick to the back alleys and unused side roads on the ride over in order to avoid being seen by too many citizens. He normally liked to make an entrance, but Megakat's enforcers weren't known for offering the olive branch to cape crusaders. And if the media was to be believed these guys had their _own _heroes, some jet jocks with twice as much fire power as the enforcers. Gosalyn liked their jet though. Difficult as it was (mainly to his ego) it would be better to follow the Five's lead and keep a low profile, at least until he found them or they made their own entrance. He was hoping for the former. As much as he didn't like this place he didn't want to see it reduced to a crater by most of his rouges gallery.

He headed for the Ratcatcher ,skulking in the convenient darkness of some ramshackle sheds next to a set of blown out yard lights, slipping his fedora back onto his head then wondering if he should have bothered with the heat and the fact he'd be using the crash helmet once he started up. Deep breathing whispered through the heat, a white feathered finger tugging at a heavy collar.

_Taking along the turtle-neck was a bad idea. _

"And so our weary, heat stricken hero wearily shambles off into the night…not in defeat but…in preparation. For at dawn…!"

He thought about it.

"…I'll still be _here_."

He didn't know what he didn't like about Megakat. Well, rather he did, but parental responsibility prevented him from voicing it as fervently as he'd like to. That made everything in his head bunch up for attention as he went over everything, adding to the point beyond the swelling to bursting point sensation. The result was that he didn't notice the card stuck to his feet until a loose piece of gravel, forced out of place by the pressure of his foot, came loose and took him down with it in it's bid for freedom. He would have thrown it away if not for the strange sensation touching it produced. A thumb and forefinger examination produced a handful of damp fibres. He rolled it lightly in his free hand. Wet, or rather damp, not with sweat, and covered in…he pulled out a magnifying glass…moss. He agitated the surface with the same thumb and forefinger and felt the familiar tingle of static.

"Well whaddaya know."

A clue. He took in the card itself. One side blood red, although that may just be the lighting around here, stamped with a black symbol the very definition of demonic. He placed the peeling plastic cover hanging onto it by a malnourished thread. The beer mug logo with a shoe floating in it on the obvious cover up looked familiar, a bar back home that wasn't dirty just because the janitor disappeared and turned up a lot thinner than he had been when the tide came back in. He inspected the back, because there was nothing else he could realistically do. The handwriting, assuming it wasn't fancy computer text, was elegant and flowing, tempered by blockish capitals.

**G**entlemen,

**B**e at the following address as soon as possible upon your arrival.

**A**sk for the scenic route.

**L**ooking forward to your inauguration.

No signature. Just the same dark kat shaped deaths head symbol, smaller than it's twin.

_A gang marking? Can't be, no one looking for street cred uses words like that. _ _Probably means something with the bad boys and girls around here anyway. Inauguration? That's the first more than one syllable word I've heard since we got here. Only crooks who spell like that work in law firms. Or city hall._

Hand rubbing the under side of his bill, he took in the cover again. An effectively simple plan, find out where the badest of the out of town bad get tanked up and slip them a handout under the coaster. Someone obviously powerful or at least cursed with an Oxford education and an inferiority complex. The noticeable thing about this otherwise unnoticeable little thing would be the big bold words MEGAKAT printed above the Gum Shoe logo.

_So it's a chain? And here I thought you had to breed that kind of musk. _

If so there was probably only one in this entire city, probably only one in every major city. It made sense. A place a crook on the lamb could always know he could flock to. Organized crime for the less organized, it had to be. Why else be so specific? The Gum Shoe. Cute.

_I'm probably not too popular with the powers that be to hope they're still there…but maybe I can find a tour guide to help me find the scenic route._

The familiar old self satisfied smile spread across his beak, filling him with confidence from fedora to finger tips to tail feathers to webbed feet. Magnifying glass and card were stashed in a fold in his cape next to the unused spectral analyser and waiting gas canisters. He was new here, and he acted like it despite all efforts. He knew what he was looking for, crime, he just didn't know where it was. He'd stayed exactly where he should be, but the rest of the world had wandered off and gotten lost. And now he was back in sync with the rest of it and would drag it back into place with him by the Fearsome Five and whoever forced him to take this stir frying vacation to find them.

"Let's get dangerous."

He mounted the Ratcatcher, fired up the engine and took off, a dim flash of dark purple in the night the only sign that he was there at all.

---

"Yes commander. No commander. Yes commander. Mmm hmm commander. Commander…no. Commander, if I could just…yes. Yeah. Mmm hmm. No. Look…commander if I could have a second here…"

Deputy mayor Calico Briggs hated jumping through hoops. Teeny tiny hoops. On fire.

She liked Ulysses Feral even less. _Respected_ maybe, but eleven thirty at night was eleven thirty at night. An nightshift enforcer she was not. Taxes had thankfully lowered this year with a rise in tourism, another if smaller reason to be thankful for the two kat air force doing Feral's job for him, but heroism came at a price and that price was paper work during and after office hours. She'd been half way through balancing the budget for repairs to the Hairball Hotel and KTV building on main street ,after the Metallikats were taken out in a hostage situation, before the email had appeared in her inbox. Better than a phone call, but only just. And then Feral had called.

"Yes commander, I have tried to contact S.H.U.S.H. No. Yes. Listen…okay don't, whatever."

Her fingers tapped off the desk in a time honoured little rhythmless rhythm. It was good for her fingers, especially when trying to communicate with Manx about a context that did not include the word "Golf". She kept them flexible to help with penmanship and he got to keep his throat in working order.

"No I don't know when they'll reply. No. This isn't…no." She shrugged, frustrated at the entire situation. "Yes, I sent a response asking for more details, names, suspects, any specifics. Any at all. That was…I don't know, a couple of seconds before you called. No, they haven't responded yet. Yes, I'd like to think that I made it clear that "maybe" isn't enough if you want to put out an APB or something. No. No, I said I just sent it, there's no way they can…yes. No. Commander…"

Her computer pinged. She had mail. Saved by the internet.

"Commander, could you hold please."

Smiling angelically at the scratching swearing on the other end of the line, Callie placed the receiver to the side, clicking the document open. It took some time to load.

_That __was fast…_

The eventual opening wasn't, mainly due to the fact city hall's virus protection was two years behind even the models in the ancient Megakat library and loaded like an arthritic tanker. What showed up when it finally finished was a series of files, four in all. She clicked the first one.

A buck toothed grin to fixed to belong to anything sane stared out at her, tongue sticking out between them like a deranged snake, the word Quakerjack lined above the photo. The information beneath, apart from the real name, was full to the brim, the list of crimes committed filling a good ten pages. She highlighted the entire text so far, and opened a word count.

8703.

There were about ten charges per sentence, each one of them goofy but pulling neck and neck with the Metallikats combined rap sheets. And that was only half the document. And there were four more in the folder. Oh boy…

Scanning the name of the folder as a whole she picked up the receiver. If the commander had noticed she wasn't there he at least had a good sense of timing to parallel the bad, continuing whatever point he'd been in the middle of.

"SWAT Kats." Callie said simply, eyes still on the screen illuminating her one piece glasses.

The distant humming of the several faulty wires throughout the building crashed down into the sink hole the line's instant silence created. Callie took the opportunity to open all four files in the file, setting fire to the words and branding them across her brain with the determined precession that had seen her through two years at the top of the top of the top class in university. Megavolt, Liquidator, Bushroot and Quakerjack. One name for the four. The Fearsome Five. One missing. So what could they dismiss…or what did they have to brace for?

"Commander, they just came through. Right in front of me. These guys aren't much to look at but we wouldn't be getting this defcon five attitude if there wasn't something worth arming the nukes over. I'll e mail you the…"

She drew back in a spine tightening wince at the explosion on the other end of the line. Feral prided himself on being a military man, a quality at odds with his apparently natural sailors vocabulary.

"Ok, ok…fax. But I'd go out and cut down a couple of rain forests, because these are big…"

The email icon on her desktop metamorphosed into a flashing envelope. More info on persons of mass destruction St Canard style, oh goody…

"And it's going to get bigger. I just got another file. Yeah, from them. Yeah. Yes, official seal and everything."

This one held only two files. The ten or so sub categories within hardly made that a good thing. Blonde eyebrows raised over the rim of respectable yet stylish spectacles. The separate names over each seemed a contradiction in terms. Dark and Nega. Stomach acid generated a miniature shockwave, telling her she knew what would be in both of them. She opened each, minimiseing each, more to get a good look at the subjects than any actual confirmation. Green eyes rolled between each, searching, analysing, for what she didn't quite know. Dark, or Duck Darkwing, appeared to be registered as an ally, although a possible one. Understandable, although the cloak and dagger set seemed to be more tolerant of vigilantism than the high class law enforcer cut outs of Feral's cloth. Many of the physical stats apart from Eyes (blue), Height (4'4) and Methods (smoke screen theatrics and Quack Fu) were unhelpfully vague, but the photo attached was worth about ten different self explanatory sentences. The firm pose, clenched fists on hips, the dark almost regal purple, the smile stretched thinly across the large beak, the surrounding smoke that still didn't totally obscure him, the tuxedo like jacket buttoned neatly, yet a dainty corner of a pale green turtle neck peeking out almost cheekily from between his collar and neck, the tight sword swinger mask that concealed any identifiable features around his eyes, yet high lighted them, the classy but casual hat: self indulgent yet…heroic. The opposite image could have been a photoshoped copy if not for the…stronger body language. A slight tilt to the pose, a lean worthy of Johnson himself, demanding just what were _you_ gonna do about it? The stark primary colours of the identical outfit contrasted almost painfully with the storm cloud black smog, uncountable numbers of gnat small sparks. Destruction rather than mystery, garish yellow and red rather than deep and subtle purple. The cape and smoke even billowed in the opposite direction of the other image. They could have been playing cards, King and Joker, although which was which depended on the rules of the game. The physical stats were unnervingly similar. She fought horror film worthy nausea at the list of methods. The agency registration status didn't help. Omega-Maximum Level Threat. Public Enemy Number One.

The name over the entire horror story novel was fitting. Almost as if it had been built for the mad ice blue glare from between the black mask under the red fedora.

Callie turned away from the monitor light to stare out the window at the spires of Megakat, rooftops already covered in smog.

"Darkwing Duck, huh?"

---

The shipping container wasn't exactly notable, un unique in a virtual wall of iron and steel smelling of fish and cheap plastic. Apart form one minor detail. It shouldn't have been there. The cargo ship had left Duckberg with a cargo of nine hundred and ninety containers full of stuffed animals. They'd later be put to use as an adorable means of smuggling kat nip out of the state, but the beagle a the top of the crowded rust bucket's food chain hadn't survived the invasion of his home land, a life on the streets of twelve countries and the majority of his adolescence in jail by not paying attention to his surroundings. Far from mindlessly simple, loading cargo, any cargo, depended on militant attention. When a pay check depended on the contents of these rusty hulks you were either pretty damn good at it or you were poor. The amount of enemies this kind of trade made, especially out of any employer, didn't help. So arriving with a hundred and ninety one containers worth of stuffed glass eyed fluff and not noticing until they were almost docked irritated the captain. Pickpockets picked up on this kind of thing faster than that.

"Open!" he barked at the scared kat acting as first mate. Both were aware of species difference and neither was particularly tolerant of it, so barking out orders at the first mate established hierarchy, a necessity in normal shipping environments as well. A brief buzzing of Cantonese swearing no better than the beagle's broken winged pigeon English vanished beneath straining and the creaking screech of a crowbar. The room echoed to the rolling boom of the doors falling open support beams almost shaking, rust flakes and dust clouds blurring into the inner shadows. Squinting, both seamen almost didn't make out the figure sprawled in the lazy boy dead in the centre of the container but for the dark primary colours wrapped in the dust and darkness. The sound of a beak smacking dryly sounded oddly hollow and tinny, blue eyes a bloodshot red, not glaring but solidifying into a scowl naturally built into facial muscle. The captain was unimpressed.

"You crazy? Out!"

Not a single movement. A moment went by, everything tense but the slouching duck.

"You hear? Out!"

Dim lights flashed off ugly metal.

If not for the red blur of fabric there'd be no evidence the bird had moved at all. The mate hunched over, seeming to expand horribly as he shrunk, as if his spine was being crushed by the tiny red flower blossoming over it. The captain took a step forward. That was a mistake.

"Stop…"

If he had concentrated, he may have seen his reflection in the incoming knife.

NegaDuck straitened up, adjusting a stray corner of cape.

"Knob."

---

The steel door rattled. The bouncer gave it an unimpressed glance, then straightened up, glaring out of the eye level grill.

"Wazza pass woid?"

Then he saw what was on the other side of the door.

"Awww crap…"

The gas canister made an appropriately hollow reverberating sound as it bounced off the space between his eyes. The room was suddenly full of smog that wasn't worse than cigar smoke in the first time since forever. And probably tasted better to.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the hair of the dog that bit you! I am…"

He almost didn't duck the pool cue in time. A well placed elbow took care of the offending kat, although it was probably the amount of piercing that dragged him down rather than dead weight. The same seemed true for the rest of the patrons, panic, loose chairs, badly concealed weapons, too little space and too much beer having done a good twenty per cent of his work. The jukebox had been drowning out his monologue anyway. Darkwing flexed a hand free from a trailing sleeve. Time to say hello to Megakat city. St Canard style.

---

"_All units, attention all units…"_

"Just when you think ya can get out…" T-Bone muttered.

Razor shushed him, turning up the enforcer band radio as the pilot slowed the engines to a hovering purr.

"…_repeat, four-fifteen g on bar corner of Thomas and Butch, repeat, four fifteen g in progress. No gunfire yet, but let's not hold our breath huh? Repeat, all units…"_

Razor smirked at the dull bleep of course instruments being set.

"Shall we?"

T-Bone's grin was bigger as he glanced at his partner over his shoulder.

"Shan't we?"

---

Darkwing resisted the urge to spit. It wasn't a shot to a mouth or even the result of fight breathing, just the atmosphere. The bar, the city, everything…it felt like tarmac on his tongue. The morons littering the floor looked it. That he was proud of at least.

"Yep, yep, yep…some things never change."

He gave up further rubbing the grimy dust into his hands, placed them behind his back, and carefully placed each strut into the gap between each prone body. He'd covered about half the bar, like a connoisseur in a Rolls-Royce museum before he found what he was looking for.

"Stop playing dead Larry, stiffs usually smell better than you."

The kat was on his feet in a split second spring. Darkwing had him by the shirt in two.

"Now is that anyway to say hi to an old chum, chum?"

"Awww no! No!"

The kat squirmed wretchedly, like a worm embarrassed by the fish hook through it's naval. The fact the duck holding him was a foot shorter may have had something to do with it.

"Not you! I only just got the smell of that damn smoke out of my shirt!"

"But not the nacho cheese I see."

Okay, so inspiring a kind of embarrassed annoyance as opposed to paralysing terror in some criminals wasn't quite what he'd been going for, but it played to his advantage. Larry Nibbles was a born and bred lackey. He took orders and, Darkwing suspected, springs built into his sneakers to jump through hoops. The patch of brown fur around his mouth may have had less to do with genetics and more to do with his ever constant need to make out with the tail end of anyone with any kind of street cred in a desperate attempt to gain some of his own. Typical to any freelance member of any industry he was on some level aware of practically anything going on down in the depths of the underworld, usually something more dirty than he was. Not quite a stool pigeon so much as a parrot who wouldn't shut up, given the correct motivation. Namely them thar sooper types. Getting fingered as squealer to anyone with a badge or a cape went against the image he wanted running for himself, and the only thing keeping him playing court jester to any kind of kingpin was that he was extremely good at any kind of job he was given. Leaving for Megakat, Darkwing had decided, was a crying shame, because loosing Larry meant loosing one of the best in the business. No one freaked more at the slightest suggestion of authority that wasn't organising crime than the little kat bred weasel. Capable of worming his way to the big cheese of any rat hole and so easy to crack it was like a rocket launcher fired at a stain glass window.

_And_ from St Canard, making him the best choice for a rendezvous.

"So Larry, you walking Ammonia Pine nightmare you, whatever have you been up to?"

"No! No!"

"Yeah…gonna need more than that Larry."

If he remembered correctly (of course he did) Larry had a bad left shoulder. The swing carried kat and almost duck into the wall, Larry squealing like an offended kitten and clutching his right shoulder. Darkwing scowled and decided to pretend it was because he was getting tough.

"Admit it you woesome little weasel, the Fearsome Five were here, weren't they?"

A snarl vibrated through the kat's teeth, simpering out and most likely from pain. Also a great motivator. He tightened his grip on the shirt, trying to actually avoid touching it at the same time.

"N-n-nooo, man…no. I dunno…nah!"

Darkwing let in closer.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah man…only four…"

Larry clamped his hands over his mouth, risking instant poisoning. Darkwing smirked.

"Ohhhhhhh yeah, the Fearsome Four. Never heard of them."

"So…you're gonna let me go?"

"I'm being sarcastic Larry." 

"Bummer."

Darkwing eased the pressure, just to let the at know he had leverage, but he had more.

"So what happened? NegaDuck get tired of our daily never ending battle so the other four requested a transfer to this smog factory?"

Larry squinted left and right as if afraid of being over heard.

"Something like that. I don't hang with those weirdoes…"

"Larry, I've been around the block a hundred times before you picked up your first one and spelt "Kat". _They_ don't hang out with _you_ unless they want something."

The kat shrugged his one good shoulder.

"So where's they go and what did they want?"

Another shrug.

"What does everyone in Megakat want man?"

Darkwing squinted at him.

"A bath?"

"Naw man, they got a better deal and decided to shell out for…"

The kat stopped, staring at the caped duck as if appeared in front of him without using a smokescreen. Green eyes glared into ice blue and narrowed.

"You don't know do you? You're new hear, you've never smoked your way in here. Probably found your way here by dumb luck. You got no idea how things work here, with the grunts or the metas. I could string you a line a bull bigger than Taurus Bulba."

Darkwing leant in closer, beak inches from the kat's maw, shoulders hunched and drawing the cape closer around himself and into the shadows.

"Bad idea Larry."

A roar, a light. He barely made out the cry of "Launching Octopus Missile!" and the crack of metal meeting concrete.

His arm lowered as the light dimmed enough to illuminate rather than obliterate the surroundings, reflecting off the dull red and metallic colour scheme of the birds claw shaped _something_ vibrating in the wall, faint smoke drifting out of the tail end. He dropped the moaning (sounded more from annoyance than pain) kat, spinning around, hand already around the barrel of his half full gas gun.

The lithe kat in the blue flight suit glared at him from under the primary coloured helmet, arm still razed and smoking slightly from the gauntlet seemingly moulded around his hands.

"Didn't know the opera was in town."

Both turned at the sound of a door slamming over the jet engine howl. The rear exit door swung rapidly back and forth. Darkwing turned back to Razor, all the frustration of the past couple of hours and now the added outrage of loosing a lead pumping into his trigger finger. The kat challengingly cocked the gloveatrix, taking fresh aim. It was the three seconds it took for the masked mallard to get a bead on him, smiling grimly.

"Let's get dangerous."


	2. Scenic Route

There was a knock at the door. 

Dr Elrod Purvis (no PHD) looked up from the snake poison glow of the latest strain of Catalyst X. Rather than rage, which most certainly did come later, serpentine feline features were a picture of yellow eyed confusion. The sound of combat he had become accustomed to with satisfying ease, but isolation reduced such domestic things as the sound of a hand simply hitting a door to a sudden hollow, alien, thumping. And he couldn't access the wildlife. The link, always half not there anyway, seemed…dulled. Further away as if drowned under a thin membrane.

And that was another thing. Although several bushes and rotten oaks had become mutated watchdogs to the outskirts of his twenty mile perimeter (and _they_ didn't appear to be there either) who in God's name would be knocking on the door of an ostensibly abandoned shack built into a monstrous tree squatting in the middle of a swamp?

The sensible thing Viper knew would be to create more mutants, head further into the depths of his lair and out into the open air to dispose of the intruder in a gruesome manner before returning to delicate work with unsuitable tools. Because his mind was suddenly off balance by the bizarre act of the normal among the strange he did not do this.

He put down his tools, went to the door, and opened the small hatch that allowed a squinted look out into the fetid air. At first he wasn't sure if he was seeing anyone, or if the air had become alive and horribly gelatinous. Liquid eye brows rose and fell as if about to tell the world's funniest knock knock joke.

"Avon calling!"

The image behind the figure became crystal clear as the shape blurred away like water down a drain pipe. The light was painful and instant. The slab of rusted metal that rammed into Viper from the impact of the bolt was more unfortunately tangible. Wood and glass shattered under him, leaving him slumped like an empty sack of scales as the door bounced once off the floor and into the mass of roots at the end of the room. Which came to crawling, lashing life, wet nails sliding across Viper's skin.

"Uh, I just want you to know that despite all this, I still kind of…you know…respect you for your work. Breathtaking. All of it…uh…"

"Root."

"Alright, alright! Just…y'know."

The grip tightened, the angry hiss exploding out of Viper's throat in a squawking quack. The other speaker blurred into his vision, red and purple running together like a rotten nightmare tomato.

"Wait, wait, hold it, wait, I really gotta do this!"

Something clicked.

"Jack, this ain't the…"

"Just a minute, just a minute…"

"Jack!"

"Shut up Megs! Just a second!"

Another click. Sharper, closer. A limb alien yet familiar as his own head flexed involuntarily. The strangling veins burst at the roar of enraged pain, Viper lashing up and out of the grip, bone thin muscles bulging. The clattering false teeth gripping his tail flailed in it's manic thrashing, clinging tight like a determined mosquito.

Quakerjack stepped back, barb sharp tip coming within inches of decapitating one of his cap's bell tails. The jangling false teeth shards bounced off the floor, sounding like fine china being dropped.

"Um…oops?"

Viper's shoulders sagged, breathing slowing to a kind of hysterical breathing. A short smile spread across his bruising lower lip, the light dancing off the single showing tooth matching the sheen of his spread claws.

"I don't know who you are, but I know who'll I'll kill firsssst. Like a Phrynosssomatidae pulling the legssss off a…off a…"

The low sophisticated snarl slurred, a hand trembling like a coffee cup in an earthquake as it drifted to the grass root strands of black hair clinging to the reptilian scalp.

"Whassss..huzssss…?"

The flickering lab light illuminated Quakerjack's grin.

"Can you spell Elapide, Viperidae and Colubrid venom with a dash of horse tranquillisers?"

Viper lunged, groggy but carrying as much limp weight as a run away bowling ball. Quakerjack shielded his face at the blast of water that swatted the deranged scientist out of the air, rolling around the snake squirming mass of lithe flesh like a starved Boa Constrictor.

"Sssssswing batter, batter, batter, ssssssswing batter, batter, batter, no batter, no batter!"

Lab tables shattered under the back and forth barrage of weight and water, the Liquidator flushing gallon after gallon into his right arm, a high pressure hose worrying it's prey like a terrier. Steam billowed against the rotted plank ceiling, turning it a further greenish gold as spilt chemicals hissed and bubbled together like mating snakes. Viper stared at the ruins through a horrified swollen eye. It slowly swivelled up, hazily following the pulsing, trailing, dancing stream of green tinged red plasma streaming gently and slowly with the constant river motion around him.

The water cage bounced to the left arm, stretching up and back, swinging around and around and around…

"Let there be light!"

Megavolt would have rolled his eyes if it wouldn't have thrown off his aim. The light, smell and sound as the blast struck the soaking Viper. He smiled grimly a the jolting figure screaming in the centre of the blaze. So _this _was victory. Trails danced along each saturated appendage, flying into swaying bulbs, computers and smocking chemicals. And then there was the fact they were in a confined space made of wood. The smile vanished. The flames didn't start, they were just suddenly there, the heat rolling over all of them as the smoking streak slapped wetly into the crackling floor. Something was suddenly in Megavolt's lungs, bursting out in hacking coughs.

"Aaaw no…" he managed, doubling over. _This_ was a little more familiar. Quakerjack was either crying or laughing or both, and Bushroot was running around screaming about the roots. The Liquidator looked from teammate to teammate in confusion. A watery snout sniffed acrid air, a look of realisation dawning in an _Oh yeah! _kind of way. A rippling chest puffed out proudly.

"Never fear, the Liquidator is here! For all your air conditioning needs, always use Liquidator brand water slides! If it's good enough for the alliance, it's good enough for you!"

Smothered moonlight glinted of flame and bursting water as a giant bolt of water punched out through a wall, twisting and swirling out of the flaming shack and towards the ravaged dirt land of the swamp. The three oxygen dependant members watched the glow of the fire, a stalking puma rearing out of the collapsing shack and pouncing from branch to rotten branch. Harsh coughing faded away in a slow wave of awe and realisation. Heads swivelled to look at each other, a glint that wasn't from the fire rising in their eyes. Quakerjack, drying an eye, raised his free hand.

"High five?"

---

"Damn it…"

"Son of a…"

"Web footed…"

"Mangy little…"

"You sure you don't want any help?" a smiling T-Bone drawled casually, free hand tapping a little sing song rhythm on the idling instrument panel.

"I said I got it…leggo of that you…"

"Stick this up your…"

As fun as listening to the drama unfolding, punching, claw and rolling around on the other end of the radio was, the pilot was getting bored. Moving the Turbokat's spotlight around to follow the conflict, which had spilled out into the street after Jake tackled the fashion police fugitive out through the door, was not how he intended to spend the rest of the night. A warning laser blast smacked the spot the caped mallard had been before the combatants broke apart, a purple cape blurring around one arm and up as dust sparked off the asphalt. Razor drew a gloveatrix covered hand across a raw feeling lip.

"Pretty good right hook. Quack Foo?"

The cape billowed like angry wings, wrapping around the nut in the hat, stiff, protective. Defensive.

"Oh you'd like to know, wouldn't you, you fruity colored fur ball clod…

Razor snarled low enough to shatter glass.

"Oh that is _it_…"

He could hear the smirk in the orbiting kat's voice. 

The jab ricochet off ancient discipline somewhere inside the enraged kat, striking grey matter and sparking inspiration. That wasn't a spiteful remark. A signal rather, a gun shot to get his attention and get him thinking. Hey, if insults almost made him make himself a moving target…

He relaxed, shrugging at the same time every bone in his body seemed to sag, as if an entire truck full of tranquillisers had been emptied into him, happy juice practically running out his ears. A smile that radiated mellow spread across his face.

"Ah, you're right. Not worth it."

He made sure to look at the duck as thought he wasn't actually looking at him.

"I mean, it's just some nut in a cape, am I right?"

"Just some…I…you piece of…"

Tight hands clasped the cape, spreading them apart as far as muscle would go, spreading the cape and limbs far apart like the world's biggest bulls eye.

"I am the terror that…"

The quick drawn Octopus Missile turned the monologue into a gurgling grunt, slamming straight into the middle of the turtle necked chest, prongs extending like striking scorpion trails. Cape rippling from the force of the impact, the masked duck vibrated slightly as he was pinned to the run down building behind him. Razor got close up, flicking the stylised flight helmet back further up his skull like the most elegant ten gallon ever.

"Anything to say before we get you out of that Victoria's Secrets reject and into some standard prison orange?"

The glare under the fedora brim was determined, defiant and decisive.

"Since you asked…"

Later, he'd put everything down to sound, because that's the last clear thing he'd remember. The far of bleating of the enforcer cruisers jarring the air, the symphony of the Turbokat engines running over him like a satisfied lover in contrast to the thumping of enforcer choppers. The light chink of the missile prongs, the thought of the fact that wasn't supposed to happen running ahead of the popping of wood where the upper left hand tip had pierced boarded window rather than solid concrete, pulled up a little more than it should for total grip on a perp, not much but all you'd need if you were really good. The fading rustle of fabric as the weapon was instantly drawn with a reflex almost as fast as neurons firing, the click of the ridiculously cumbersome thing cocking.

"Suck gas!"

The canister firing, rushing past his ear and imploding were all one and the same, the sound of his own lungs filling and refilling in spitfire bursts crashing against the sound of T-Bone's shouting and definite cursing. Light stabbed through the haze, the Turbokat roaring like an enraged lion, slashing into place like a hunting griffin. The thinning smoke confirmed the same thing as belly mounted spotlight. Nothing but an Octopus Missile, pried loose and lying in the street like a discarded puppy, three slit thin cracks embedded in the grime covered wall next to a shattered boarded up window. And approaching enforcer sirens.

Razor sighed, looking around fruitlessly as he tapped the helmet mic.

"You are never letting me forget this, are you?"

---

"Congratulations gentlemen."

Dark Kat stroked the tip of his cane with a ringed finger, eyes glowing brighter than the dancing light of the blaze on the monitor in front of him. On screen the iron funnel poking crookedly from the top of the shack collapsed out of it's framework as the rotted wood cascade into the side of the bending tree, bouncing and banging away into the orange water, ripples even making it as far as the muddy gold of the night time swamp water. The constant mist of the bogs eventually overwhelmed even the hellfire glow and raging black smoke. For all intents and purposes Dr Viper, at the very least his laboratory and base of operations, was gone. The last potential threat stripped of his resources if not his life.

A fanged lip curled at the constant whooping over the head set radio.

"Gentlemen."

It took them a few more seconds than was respectful for the latest pawns who had fallen under his coordination to settle down, far more time than suited someone of his benevolence. Most likely the five second delay between each headset (he made a not to get that checked. Lollygagging because of a slow connection between himself and the troops would only serve to push the operation back by many careful planned months) but still. Silence filled the communicator, the deep gravel foot steps voice finally reaching the overjoyed buffoons on the other side. Despite his irritation, Dark Kat had to concede they'd taken to the training remarkable quickly, the first field operation attesting to how much. They'd proven but not bloodied themselves, meaning it was time for the Megakat rite of passage.

"Now we move on to stage two."

---

The subtle landing became a flesh wet squelch, the cape flapping far too damn much and raking across the window like starved thin fingers. The manufactured smelling wind relented somewhat, flipping Darkwing Duck's cape around his shoulders as he sagged, breath rolling out of a stained turtleneck covered chest and smearing dark hotel windows with fog.

Time zone difference. Gotta be.

He felt in desperate need of coffee after days of drinking too much of it. Black as Taurus Bulba's heart, on a planet of no sugar. The feeling oozing back into his chafing muscles felt greasy, spread across his body like butter. Probably twice as fattening if not lethal. God, did no one _clean_ in this city?

He'd had to leave the Ratcatcher concealed behind the ragged alley tarp back at the crime scene that was probably generating all sorts of paper work for one long night. It had been a long scramble from rooftops to spires, mainly because he didn't know where he was going and needed to get there in a hurry. Not dignified as befitting an idol of millions, but neither was a highway chase across the Megakat turnpike. Hopefully the security measures Launchpad had installed using insulated gauntlets would keep the custom tires and modified fuel systems where they were. Any chop shop jock wouldn't find the duck billed stunt bike an easy night's work, the security set up packed quite a punch when left running hot. He should know, he'd tried to examine it _without _insulated gauntlets.

He became more aware of the mechanics of entering a room through the window, a stale feeling still lingering where that grapnel thing had struck him in the chest, coupled with breathing too much smog while trying not breathe at all forcing the entire thing to boil down to basics. Find an easy target, loosen if necessary, gentle but firm movements to force space between fusing paint shavings, too tired to be bothered about the louder than preferable popping rumble as the window swung back. Now the tricky part. One foot first, then the other, sliding your weight across the sill, pushing back all your weight without forcing, slipping and tumbling like a rotorless helicopter towards cold asphalt. Left foot to floor, pushing muscle back to prevent weight creaking on surface, painful when leg muscles felt like they could be sold for a dollar our of a hotdog cart in the middle of the street, repeat with right leg.

Do not slip, throw out hands to stop yourself, and end up sprawled on your beak on a itchy hotel carpet.

Startling lights blinked on, almost having him go for the gas gun. Gosalyn's tired but unimpressed and undemanding eyes were an ice bucket, a soft pillow and a warm bath to his legs all at once.

"Rough night?"

"Aren't they all?"

She smiled wearily, absently shoving a dropping pigtail back into place.

"Think there's some painkillers at the bottom of my luggage…"

Upright, the hero of St Canard stretched like a stiff panther, a brief crack muffled by the city sounds wafting into the room. Compared to most Fearsome Five missions that was as tame as a sheep raised lion.

"No, no honey, not that bad. Just a little raw. It'll be gone by morning."

At least Morgana wasn't here. Not that he'd complain, but healing spells were the last thing he needed right now. Anything to do with Malucum McCawber really.

"There any hot water in this death trap? I swear to God this stuff is trying to moult me early."

"Ducks only moult once a year, dad."

"Exactly."

"But you already moulted."

"Yeah, but my point is…"

"Duck's actually stop moulting when we're fifteen."

"Yeah, the floor isn't really the place to be talking about this kind of thing…"

"Except for us girls, cause you guys don't have periods…"

"Are you even meant to be at that level in Biology?"

"You don't learn anything from study hall, Dad."

"Kinda worried about where you learnt that then."

"Honker."

"I don't think I want to know anymore."

"Anyway, unless you were born middle aged, you shoulda stopped moulting waaaay back in…"

"I don't know what you're going to kill first, my back or my joke."

"Oh. So what, you run into a mob of adoring fans?"

She was concerned in that kind of typical Gosalyn Pretending Not To Care way she'd developed after him coming home with broken bones and beak bleeds that weren't her responsibility became a regular feature of everyday life. He held back a chuckle as he got up properly. Aching maybe, but _that _would pass.

"I wish."

"You do."

"Not really, I'd like to think my fans live with better standards than this."

She gave him a frank look.

"They chose you over GizmoDuck, right?"

His smile was thin.

"Keep that up young lady and I won't take you out to Megakat park tomorrow."

Her eyes widened, crossed arms falling to her sides like chopped down trees.

"You mean that?" she whispered in an air low breath.

"Maybe." he smirked gently, beginning to undo his mask after setting his fedora on top of the TV. "Might even take you shopping to the Manx Mall."

"And scope out the city."

She was in awe, not stupefied.

"And scope out the city, but you'd get a shiny new McDuck Enterprises version of Wiffle Boy out of it. Red, Green or maybe even blue version."

She raised an experienced eye brow.

"What's the catch?"

"I don't know, bed at a reasonable hour?"

"It's midnight."

"There we go."

"Ten minutes. And I get to watch TV."

"Deal." Drake agreed, draping cloak afghan like over a sleeping Launchpad, sprawled over the couch like a sleeping puppy. The sounds of the powering up TV floated into the bathroom as he looked around for the small bag he'd smuggled in here containing…

"Bubble baths on the right." Gosalyn called over the dull click of changing channels.

He felt too raw to cringe, almost melting at the sound of hot running water filling the bath like sheets in the bed that was _just_ right. A contented sigh was let out as all those little itches were scratched, steam with a hint of lavender inhaled, dancing down his lungs and up his tired legs as he sloshed into it. No rotting air, no grimy rooftops, no idiot jet pilots…

The volume rose outside.

"…local news now, just outside the scene where local duo, the SWAT Kats, either took on their oddest criminal yet or had a run in with a runaway Phantom Of The Opera fan…"

Giggling followed.

"Wow. Not even any powers, huh?"

Drake's grumbling sank with him into the bubbles.

---

Flesh shattered sewer water stillness, burnt and bloodied lab coat remains trailing miserably as Viper fought to rise. The sewer wall grime was almost enough to glue him upright as he slumped against it, a red green bubble drooping and inflating out of his nose in an erratic one two rhythm as his breathing came under ragged control. This, as those arrogant fools would soon learn, was why he mainly worked underground. So easy to be swallowed up by an errant sewer inlet and come up for air in miles and miles of practically unexplored tunnels and unused factory outlets. The loss of the swamp lab was regrettable, even if he had had to crash through the floor to land in his cavern lab and get dragged out by the tide, but it was hardly his only one. Hell, a few Goodwill thefts and Pumadine chemical raids and maybe it might even be salvageable. The reptilian ability to heal was also an advantage, although usually focused in his tail and even then he'd probably have to break his left hand to set it properly or he may never hold a test tube again, in which case life probably wasn't worth trying to force to evolutionary perfection.

It looked like he'd come up in the west Megakat industrial area, layers of unused floors and passages from the Mega Wars piled on top of one another beneath working generators and pipes containing running water that could be changed in amount and temperature. Hopefully hot, he would kill for a bath. Well, he'd kill for anything, but that wasn't the point.

Steeling him self for the climb in hopes of ironing out the throbbing pain in the back of his head, the mutant dug claws into ancient brick work, surface bound. Trusting rusted sewer ladders was not an option. Not since he'd personally greased them upon finding them.

The climb was tiring. The shot gun aimed at his face was startling and irritating all at once.

The duck chewing on a drum stick, weapon held at an almost jaunty bead on the mutant's head, cocked his head, looking down at the squatting form crouched on the brickwork beneath the grating leading to the surfaced. Despite the instant reptilian rage, scientific practicality had to admit it was better than cocking the gun.

"Viper, right?" the dwarf in blood red and mustard yellow asked, words chewing through ground meat.

"Who elsssse?"

"Come up. Slow."

Viper came up. Fast. The shotgun suddenly wasn't held so casually anymore. Despite the lengths of scale covered skin, the thump of metal against skull was still loud, the dust covered floor throwing up a desert cloud as the mutant landed sprawled against the wall. The blood bubble was splattered across his snout, and common sense dictated there would be more following it if he made the wrong move.

"Now, see, here I am, about to make you an offer, and you go and do something like that. I think you might have dented my gun."

Viper's good eye squished open at the sound of a clicking trigger, multiple double barrels blinking on and off in front of him.

"Nope. Don't think ya dented my gun. Wanna check for me?"

"Not…right now." Viper coughed. It'd be hell in the morning. If he made it too morning. "You had…had an offer…"

The chicken bone clattered greasily away into the shadows. Even through the haze of pain, Viper saw the blade edged smile, the gun leaned against like a diamond tipped walking stick, barrels still hovering over the floor like a waiting blood hound if needed.

"Now we're talking."

---

"How many fingers?"

"Cute…" Jake slurred, clutching the side of his unmasked face. His freed helmet emanated smugness from it's lopsided tilt atop the workbench. Even the mask would have helped.

"Hey, I'm serious!"

T-Bone's eyes were concerned beneath mask lenses, hand firm on his partner's shoulder. Light static danced minutely beneath thick glove material. A glare was shot to the purple duck billed bullet leaning on it's kickstands next to the Turbokat. A faint smoke trail smelling of heat and charred insects clung to it almost smugly.

"Told you we should have left that thing back in the alley."

"Yeah, better Feral than me."

They shared a mutual chuckle, petering out a little. Jake due to shock, T-Bone because…

"You sure about this?" he asked for the tenth time since the return to the hanger.

Despite his firm handed protest, Jake straightened up, gently brushing him away. A crack of his rolling neck, and he was back upright, relaxing in the well honed enforcer combat training manner.

"How could you not be? This thing has to belong to that Pastmaster rip off, and maybe he incorporated a, I dunno, tracking device or something. Some tech I can use to track him down."

"We're not forensics boys, Jake." Chance smiled, T-Bone's mask balled up and stuffed in the helmet clutched in his paws. Jake's return grin was wider.

"Never stopped me before. Not like I can't grab a pair of insulated gauntlets or something, maybe even insulate the gloveatrix…"

Chance shook his head.

"You have way too much time on your hands."

Despite the shock he'd received upon unloading the bike, Jake's retaliatory punch to the arm was arrow straight.

"This from the guy who spends twenty per cent of his time watching Scardy Kat."

"Into bed Clawson. We rise at oh eight hundred hours."

"What, no rivet gun gag?"

"Just try operating it with both hands twisted behind your back, wiseass."

Chance's grin was pure T-Bone.

---

"What was taken?"

Morning found Callie outside Enforcer Headquarters. Or what had been Enforcer Headquarters. Sunlight glinted off scarred silver panelling and shattered glass, the entire thing looking like a better class of Mega war wreckage. Not the best thing to be looking at after five hours of actual sleep.

"'scuse me Ms Briggs?"

The sergeant looked haggard, brown uniform a darken and thinner shade after what ever had happened last night, looked haggard. Callie wasn't entirely sympathetic. Five hours did not a patient deputy mayor make.

"The call I got this morning filled me in on the attack, not that everything for a ten mile block radius didn't. The only reason to come here other than a death wish is to grab something. A prisoner, evidence, weapons, even those prototype Blue Manx mark two parts you have hiding in the hanger, anything. The sooner I know what, the sooner I can start putting together a strategy for the mayor to avoid mass panic…and that's just for the mayor."

Felina, arms folded and leaning against a spare set of rubble, smiled knowingly at the logic the sergeant was overwhelming the possibly traumatised sergeant. A gauntleted hand was placed kindly on an enforcer emblem bearing shoulder, gently pushing him to the side where he could sit down on the remains of a squad car and think about early retirement.

"Anybody still conscious and upright is still digging through the rubble, but we know what the perps were after. The cell block and evidence room were the most heavily hit."

Callie took in the remains of the building, blonde brow raising over foggy glasses.

"What by?"

The lieutenant took a grim sip from a hip flask full of non government coffee, a must for every enforcer utility belt.

"As far as anyone knows? Jack and his bean stock."

Callie took that rather matter-of-factly. Wouldn't be the first time something out of fairy tales came to Megakat. Or nightmares.

"Dr Viper? I'd have expected more…growth, I guess."

Felina's eyes were carved from the same flint as her uncle's as she lowered the flask, teeth tightening at the feel of hot caffeine down her throat and the name.

"Definitely him, at least the method of entry was." She almost laughed at the tameness of the phrase. "Giant bean stock out of Jack's nightmares, straight from under the building to the top floor. It's just sitting there now, rotting away, but it was totally internalised. Some psycho chucking out heavy duty explosives rode the thing the entire way, but we suspect that was the diversion. As you know the meta's cells and primary evidence vault are at subbasement to ground level."

Callie nodded. She'd been the ones to approve the documents during Manx's summer golf tournament extravaganza just below practically the tax payers expense. There were miles of concrete layers below the building, the cells carved out of them and fitted with an reinforced steel shutter system for emergency use only, a precaution and inevitability when dealing with prisoners capable of buzzing through power lines or building laser cannons into their arms, even on a foundation of solid bedrock. Same for the reinforced vault that had replaced the musty series of second floor evidence lockers, and whoa betide the villain who tried to get past Smitty.

"Since the SWAT Kats pulled extra clean up duty except for Viper and Dark Kat, we only technically have one flesh and blood prisoner in lock up…or had."

"And I suspect you keep parts of two who aren't in the vault."

Felina nodded, unknowingly rubbing the butt of her stun rifle.

"And guess what's missing from the cells and most likely missing from evidence lock up."

Callie didn't even blink.

"The Metallikats and Hard Drive's suit."

---

Hard Drive fought the urge to throw up and almost failed. It wasn't just the smell, a distinctly earthy sewer feeling that clambered up his nostrils and congealed in his throat like a brick. The Metallikats had always freaked him out. Machines were beautiful things of craftsmanship, circuitry crisscrossing like a fine tapestry laced with diamond tinged panels and bolts. Kat brains, unstable ones at that, squatting in those wonderful core processors? Cringe worthy. Disgusting. Unthinkable.

And glaring at him from behind deadened infra red lenses.

"Are you _sure_ about this doctor? As I understood it you had your own history with these lunatics."

It always did to show respect to those who would declare themselves your betters. So much easier to pry away secrets and cover your tail, in real life not just the espionage world. And the way Viper's tail almost inflated from pride was a reward in it's self. Overgrown salamander…

"Yesss…quite the history it issss. Together we almossst brought an end to the SssssWAT Katsss. If not for certain…instabilitiesss in their personalitiesss."

Nimble fingers pried and tweaked, reconnecting the metallic equivalent of a nervious system half buried in Mac Mange's neck. Like an autopsy, which was why the cyber thief had to bite down on his lower lip to keep what wanted to climb out his throat in.

NegaDuck snorted behind him, a sound like a razor blade lined grenade softly exploding inside a throat.

"Sounds like my kinda people."

"Yessss, I had noticed."

Hard Drive didn't close his eyes fast enough to quite avoid the sight of the duck's hat and cape slashing over the mutant like a maddened vulture. His heart sped up at the sound of no sound. No thump, no clang, no choking…not a single sign the duck had moved.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me Doc?"

Hard Drive slid open one super charged eye. Bone white feathers circled a rotten stick thin neck like a snake strangling a cartoon character. Yellow serpent eyes bulged and flashed like struggling neon bulbs, Viper's breath coming in hissing, rasping gasps. Pick pocket hands flexed, power humming and building like a scared bird taking flight as Hard Drive stepped back, levelling both charging hands at…he wasn't sure who, as Viper's hands snapped around NegaDuck's stranglehold, tail dancing, raising…

Something metal clicked. Stillness rolled off it in unbreathing waves, a distant running faucet giggling away somewhere unseen. Blood shot blank snake eyes flickered in spasming thought as the speed of a brain trying to push a plan out of nearly no oxygen, and deciding to take some off the pressure off. Viper's hands unwrapped. His tail lowered, still as a sleeping Alsatian. The only real meta in the room had just backed down to someone who's hat brim barely came up to his chin. Hard Drive fought back a shudder, depowering shock suit doing it instead in marathon heart rate fast jolts, as if eager to crawl back into the circuitry and hide. God, alpha male in the making was an ugly process to see.

There was no sound as NegaDuck smirked, drew back in a slow contrast to that ungodly angry speed. Something did click though. NegaDuck shook his head, eyes closed as if in patronizing awe of the killing machine in front of him, behind Viper.

"There's no ammo in there."

"Awww crud…" Mac moaned. The slammed the cannon off the side of his aching head, obliterating the reboot information flying across his sensors, an almost mortal hiss of annoyance creaking out between clammed steel teeth like a loose hydraulic pipe.

"And quit play acting doll face. I heard your joints creaking."

Molly was suddenly on her feet, Viper on the other side of the room, face down.

"The last time that scaly dork put us back together for someone else, they snapped shock collars on us."

NegaDuck's cold eyes glinted off the reflective surface of a plasma barrel, also empty but seconds away from a fairly effective club.

"Didn't think anybody'd be stoopid enough to pull the same stunt without that part."

A row of pearly whites, the only thing pure about NegaDuck, flashed like an explosion off the metal.

"Yeah, I wasn't that stooped."

Mac made a straining noise that wasn't oral, grinding off the workbench to clank to his feet.

"Hey I feel…dizzy. Heavier." He looked at something that wasn't there with inhuman straightness.

"Hey Molly, are your readouts goi'n hooky too?"

The she kat stared through NegaDuck with that same not really glare.

"Yeah…what's this copula extra pounds we suddenly gained while we was in shut down?"

"Just a little snack." NegaDuck examined his imaginary nails on a hand close enough to an clawing tiger paw to be genuine. "You know how it is, you open the pantry and all there is is a couple of tons of heavy duty shell casing, fresh plastique, a cup fulla nitro-glycerine and some old school nuclear slugs with voice activated remote detonators."

The sound of smacking lips broke the cyborg Kats horrified stare from each other to him. Hard Drive suddenly felt naked at the sound, layers of conducive circuitry and kevlar weave almost forgotten. Viper looked less like a nightmare snake and more like something small that wanted to hide under a lily pad.

"Just like momma used to make."

Cape flapping in a non existent but proud breeze, he stalked past the reactivated gangsters to lean against a wall allowing him a view of each Megakat criminal. A skilled computer jock with a megawatt fetish, a geek with a degree in nasty chemistry and a skin condition, and two fully armed almost unstoppable tin can leg breakers with street smarts and mechanical precision more violent than any tinker toy that moron Quakerjack could fart out on his best day. All in the same smog spewing, cancer corrupted, brain rotting dirt bag waste of land the mangy fur balls up top called a city.

Perfect.

"Now that I have all you knobs attention…"

He let the shadows of his hat smother out his eyes like a membrane of charcoal sketching darker than any purple black sewer shadow, perfect against the razor blade glint of his grin.

"Ever here the one about the five super criminals and the plan to take over the city?"


End file.
